


every sunday's getting more bleak

by sterydia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison's Funeral, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Mentions of the nogitsune, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 03B, this is really depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4499049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterydia/pseuds/sterydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia reached out and tangled her fingers with Stiles’, squeezing in a reassuring way. “Are you ready?”</p><p>“Not really,” he admitted with a sad smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every sunday's getting more bleak

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write an Allison funeral fic since the end of 3B and here it is. Apparently I like to torture myself because this was really sad to write. Sorry for any emotional trauma that you might feel reading it! As always, thanks to [Megan](http://theron09.livejournal.com) for a speedy beta and helping me sort a few things. Title comes from "Take Me To Church" by Hozier.

His fingers trembled as he attempted to adjust the knot of his tie, wondering for the hundredth time if he should even go. If he should even be alive. The Nogitsune had used him to effectively tear its way through Beacon Hills, feeding on the chaos it created, and now he had to go to Allison’s funeral still looking like the thing that had caused her death. He hadn’t slept since they’d killed it, instead spending his time cleaning off his walls, staring at the tatters of red string that still hung in some places. He eyed his closet door, sitting slightly ajar, and felt the air in the room getting thin.

Stiles hadn’t seen any of them since they left the high school, purposely avoiding everyone so that he wouldn’t have to see the looks on their faces. Not blame, but grief and worry and sadness. Things he saw when he looked in the mirror, except he blamed himself when no one else did. It was bad enough that his father would stare at him as if he were trying to make sure that it was still only Stiles in there. He knew no one hated him, but despite that, he hadn’t been ready to face them.

He still wasn’t ready. Walking over to the closet, he shoved the door shut and pressed his back against it, trying to get control of his breathing. He remembered what Lydia had said about panic attacks in the locker room, and sucked in a deep breath. Stiles held it until black dots began to form in his vision, finally letting it go and sucking in deep gulps of air. But it didn’t help and he slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, pulling his knees up against his chest. He was home alone; he was supposed to meet his dad at the station and they would go to the funeral together. He eyed his phone, sitting on the desk where he’d put it days ago and never bothered to turn it back on. All it would take was a text and any one of his friends would come over without question. That just made it worse.

Allison wouldn’t have wanted him to be like this. She would have wanted him to be strong, to stand bravely with their friends at her funeral and honor her. Honor the person that she had been: an amazing friend who had given her life to save another.

 _Get up off of the floor, Stiles, right now._ He could hear her as clear as if she were standing in front of him speaking. _You’re stronger than this. Get up._

Stiles swallowed back the lump in his throat and wiped his hands across his cheeks, surprised to find tears there. He felt like he could breathe again, at least enough to pull himself up onto his feet, and he walked down the hall to the bathroom. Splashing water on his face he slumped over the sink, blinking back a new onslaught of tears as he thought of Allison’s triumphant little smile that she’d get when someone did something right. A knock on the front door surprised him and he quickly toweled off his face, descending the stairs to see who it could be.

Lydia was standing on his front porch, wearing a black dress and heels and trying her best to look like she was going to be able to handle this day. Kira stood to her left, awkwardly fidgeting with her fingers. Behind them, Stiles saw Scott and Isaac walking up the driveway, both in suits. The urge to slam the door and hide under his covers like a child clawed at him as he stared at them, his mouth open in surprise.

“We need to have a pack meeting before we go, Stiles.” Lydia said, soft but sure and he swallowed hard, finally meeting her red rimmed eyes.

“Okay,” he managed, stepping aside to let them in.

Stooping down, he brushed aside the line of mountain ash that he’d put down that morning as some sort of safety precaution. It was mostly for his own benefit, and it was probably a selfish thing to do because none of the weres would have been able to cross it. As Lydia walked past him, she put her hand on his shoulder, just a light brush of fingers that made him close his eyes for a moment.

“Where’s Malia?” He found himself asking as he got up.

Kira stepped over the threshold. “She’ll be at the wake, not the funeral. She didn’t think it was right for her to come, she didn’t know Allison that well.” 

That made sense. Scott had been helping her control her shift, and she was slowly becoming a member of their pack, but she’d never met Allison. He got how it would be uncomfortable for her to be there. Once everyone was inside, he pushed the front door shut and reassembled the mountain ash line, essentially trapping all of them in the house. He tried not to think of it like that, like being trapped, but he couldn’t help it.

As soon as he turned around, Scott immediately wrapped his arms around him. Stiles stiffened, because all he could think about when he hugged him was the moment he’d twisted that blade that had been buried in Scott’s chest in the animal clinic. It hadn’t been him, he reminded himself, and he forced himself to relax into the embrace, putting an arm around Scott’s back. It took everything he had to control the shaking in his limbs, but it didn’t matter because Scott already knew and it only made him hug him harder. 

“Don’t ever do that again? Do you hear me?” Scott mumbled into his shoulder, and his voice was thick with tears. Stiles could only nod.

“It’s my fault,” He croaked out when Scott let him go. “I let it in, it’s my fault she’s dead. I let the Nogitsune in.”

Lydia was there suddenly, pushing herself into his personal space. “You do not get to stand here and pull this self-loathing crap, Stiles, not today. Allison is my best friend…was my b-best friend,” her voice hitched and a tear slid down her face. “But you are my friend too and I need you, okay? Cutting us out of your life because you feel responsible isn’t right. We’re supposed to be pack, we’re supposed to be family. And if you think for one second any of us blame you, then maybe you should stay here.”

Stiles couldn’t even speak, he didn’t know what he could say to them that would make the way that he’d been acting okay. They were all hurting, they’d all been close to Allison. Today wasn’t about one person’s pain, it was about being there for each other when they were all feeling the same thing.

“You couldn’t have known that doing the sacrifices would bring the Nogitsune, Stiles.” Isaac said, speaking for the first time. The fact that Isaac said that to him without his usual level of snark got to him and he nodded slowly.

Lydia reached out and tangled her fingers with Stiles’, squeezing in a reassuring way. “Are you ready?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a sad smile. She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her forehead to his chest.

“Would it be cheesy to ask for a group hug?” Kira wondered timidly. Scott smiled slightly, hooking his arm around her neck and pulling her in.

Stiles caught Kira’s elbow, pulling both her and Scott against himself and Lydia. Isaac stood there awkwardly for a moment and Stiles knew that must have been hard for him, still learning how to accept affection from everyone. Scott turned, holding out his hand for Isaac to take. He accepted it, and Stiles could feel that small current of energy that ran through the pack when they all touched. It was new, before it had just been him, Allison, Scott and Lydia. Now they had Isaac, Malia and Kira. He wondered if Derek would ever accept Scott as his alpha, but decided that was a conversation for another time. He reached around Lydia, his fingers latching on to the sleeve of Isaac’s suit jacket.

He had no idea how long they stood there like that, huddled in the corner of his living room holding on to each other, gaining strength for what they were about to do. Stiles would have faced a hundred Darachs if it meant he didn’t have to do this, but he felt more grounded about it now. Numb, but able to function without having a panic attack in the middle of the cemetery. It was all a daze, piling into the Jeep and Lydia’s car, parking behind Derek’s Camaro. He felt like he was watching himself from outside of his body as he walked up to Chris to offer his condolences. The feeling was horribly familiar, almost as if the Nogitsune was still in control. It hit him then, that Chris had kept any and all other hunters away from his daughter’s funeral. Melissa and Stiles’ father were there, Derek and Deaton, Kira and Lydia’s mothers and a few other people from school and that was all. Stiles realized what kind of mayhem could have been caused when a bunch of hunters came there and found a pack, and knew that Chris had done it more for their benefit than his own.

Allison’s headstone was beautiful; black marble with her name etched into the front and the new code that she and Chris had lived by etched onto the back of it. Scott, Isaac, Derek and Stiles carried the casket from the hearse to the grave plot where Allison was being buried, despite the fact that just Scott and Isaac could have done it. Stiles tried very hard not to think about the fact that Allison’s body was in that coffin, lifeless and frail, as they set it down and he went to sit between Lydia and his father.

“Who wants to speak first?” Chris asked. There wasn’t a priest there; Allison wouldn’t have wanted someone who didn’t know her droning on about how she was in a better place.

Lydia cleared her throat and adjusted the big sunglasses that she wore to cover her swollen eyes. “I’ll go.”

Stiles could already feel that telltale lump in the back of his throat as she moved to stand up beside the headstone and pulled something small from the pocket of her dress. It was a ring, small and delicate and she sat it on Allison’s headstone. Stiles could see tears running freely down her face.

“You know, we had this great plan that after we finished high school we were going to travel for a while together. Allison said I needed to experience the world before I hid myself away to earn my Field’s Medal,” she laughed softly though her voice was thick. “Allison was fierce, and loyal. She had a mean right hook and as soon as I saw her I knew that girl was going to be my best friend. We were all really lucky to know her…”

She tried to say more, but she couldn’t do it. Everyone else only managed to say a few words at best and each time someone spoke about her it felt like someone was twisting a knife beneath his ribs. He knew that he wasn’t the only one. Scott could barely get the words out that he wanted to say, and Chris was staring straight ahead, tears running down his face as he still managed to look stoic while listening to everyone talking about how much they’d loved his daughter and what a wonderful person she’d been. No one talked about the other parts of her; how she’d sacrificed herself not once, but twice, to save her friends and family. Or how she’d faced down numerous werewolves before losing her fight to the Oni. That was something that would be discussed later, when the people who didn’t know about the supernatural weren’t around.

“Stiles,” His dad clapped a hand on his shoulder and he blinked rapidly, realizing that he’d completely zoned out. “Did you want to say something?”

He wanted to say everything. He wanted to tell Allison that he was grateful for all of those times she’d been there for him and Scott and Lydia. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry he spilled coffee on her favorite pair of boots and ruined them, even though she never complained. He wanted to tell her that he kept one of her Chinese ring daggers tucked into his nightstand and that Isaac was more than likely carrying the other on him right now. Chris had told them each to pick something of hers to keep and have to remember her by.

“I’m gonna miss you, Ally A.” Was all he could get out, and down the row he could hear Scott sucking in a deep breath and turned his head to see him wiping his hands over his face.

Chris smiled sadly. “My daughter was the most stubborn person I’d ever known. She managed to get into a relationship with a boy her mother and I didn’t…approve of, even though he was the best thing for her. She made the most amazing friends and helped heal old wounds between some of us.” At this, he glanced over at Derek, who only nodded back from where he was sitting beside Kira. “If I could tell my daughter one last thing, I would probably just repeat what she said to me the night that she…that she died. I love you. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of us.”

There wasn’t anything else left to be said after that. Everyone started to leave as Allison’s casket was lowered into the ground. Stiles, Lydia, and Scott stood at the end of the burial plot, their arms around one another as they watched the casket go down. It was different for the three of them, not that she’d meant any less to Isaac or Kira, or even Derek who had grown to have mutual respect with Allison over the past few months. But Lydia, Scott and Stiles had known Allison first, had been there with her from the moment she’d arrived in Beacon Hills.

“Deaton’s mixed mountain ash and wolfsbane into the dirt they’ll fill up the grave with,” Chris explained solemnly. “It’s just a precaution, but it’ll be far enough down that it won’t affect anyone unless they’re trying to dig her up.”

Lydia turned and buried her face in Scott’s shoulder and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach at the idea of someone thinking of doing that. He looked at the grave, placed between Victoria and Kate’s plain granite headstones and he thought about the last time he’d been in this graveyard, when they were burying Kate and he and Scott had come to support Allison without being seen by her family. 

“Any word from your father?” He asked Chris.

Chris’ jaw clenched. “He sent flowers. I burned them. I’m still hoping for the day the bite finally kills him. Don’t worry, he won’t be buried here no matter how much he wants to be.”

Stiles felt a hint of relief at that, and agreed. Gerard Argent dropping dead would be the best thing that could happen right now.

“We should get to the wake.” Scott said, finally speaking up.

They were walking towards the cars when they heard it, the low rumble of thunder in the distance. The sky was turning grey, the sun hidden behind the looming clouds overhead. A few splatters of rain hit the windshield as Stiles got behind the wheel, and he looked over at Scott in the passenger seat. He was staring out the window, an actual smile on his face.

“Think it’s her way of saying goodbye?” He asked quietly. Stiles put the key in the ignition and started the engine.

“Absolutely.” 


End file.
